A Simple Red Ribbon
by Blazichu
Summary: While Christmas Eve found Phoenix in the company of the Butz, the following day left him with a somewhat less needy problem. Now if only he could get that ribbon off of his neck... Slight P/E


I have a confession to make: I actually wrote this on the 26th, last month, and finished editing it sometime over the next few days... after that, I just got distracted. It was actually my first stab at P/E, but ended up more friendship-like than anything else, ignoring the ending... despite that, I doubt it'll be my last attempt.

So...in the way of warnings: _Very_ light slash, passing references to alcohol and Larry. I think that's about it, though...

* * *

Phoenix should have known better than to listen past Larry's opening "Hey, Nick"…but, for whatever sleep-deprived reason, he hadn't.

In all honesty, last night had been one mistake after another—the first error, of course, was letting the Butz talk him into anything—fortunately, though, it hadn't involved the consumption of alcohol…

Well, not on the defense attorney's part, at least.

Yesterday had been tough—what was likely the last case he'd have for the year had been followed by Detective Gumshoe's rather frantic request for some paperwork he'd left at the office, some time back. Funnily enough, Dick had seemed much less panicked when the matter of handing the papers over came up. That wasn't all of it, but they were the easiest events to pick out of a hectic day… and the only thing that Phoenix had wanted to do that night was go home and get a good night's rest, once he settled some of the post-trial records. That hope had been dashed about thirty seconds after Larry had called, though.

If the first mistake had been listening to what Larry had to say, then the second had been admitting that no, he _didn't_ have any plans for the evening.

"_But it's Christmas Eve, dude! You can't celebrate by yourself!"_

Phoenix vaguely remembered wondering, in whose twisted mind, filling out reports counted as a celebration…though, unfortunately, the Butz had won that argument. _(It probably wouldn't be the greatest idea to mention that I just didn't want to listen to his whining…) _So, gaffes one and two had been covered. Arguably, the third was actually going along with Larry's wishes, but it wouldn't have been fair to the self-proclaimed romantic to change the 'plans' so suddenly after agreeing to participate. _(Not that what he did to me was fair, either…)_

In actuality, the third mistake was sectioning himself away from the crowd and dozing off. Around Larry's—ahem—_friends_. Larry's drunk friends. _(Oh… and Larry himself.)_

Phoenix had been too tired to really register it, last night—and he had certainly been too fatigued to take care of the problem—but the fact remained: there was a bright red ribbon tied clumsily around his neck… and every time he tried to untie it, he got one of two results:

A) Tightening the decoration to an uncomfortable degree or

B) Tangling the ribbon up more than it already was

_(I can hear Larry laughing, now…)_

This was just _embarrassing_. He was a _defense attorney_—his job was to outwit even the craftiest liars! Right now, he couldn't even outsmart a piece of red fabric!

Sure, it was possible to take a pair of scissors to the ribbon, but that hadn't been attempted for a myriad of reasons—the foremost being that just the idea made Phoenix wince. The cloth was right up against his neck—he was already too familiar with the effects sharp steel had on soft flesh, and was in no way eager to find out, first hand, what it was like to have a blade pressed to his skin. The other reasons were a bit pettier. For one, this was becoming a battle of the wills, and it would be 'shameful' to let the 'enemy' be 'defeated' like that. _(Oh lord, Maya's obsession with _the Steel Samurai_ is getting to me…)_ And honestly… it was actually a nice ribbon—a velvety, deep red fabric that, fortunately, wasn't irritating his skin too much. It made Phoenix wonder why last night's drunkards had had it on hand. _(On second thought, I probably don't want to know.)_

Oh well… the ribbon was annoying, but it wasn't getting in the way of anything. Maybe, over the course of the day, it would loosen and he'd eventually be able to untangle the darn thing. It wasn't likely that anyone would be coming around the office today, anyway.

"Hey, pal, you remember that paperwork I asked you about, yesterday?"

Except for Gumshoe.

_(Well, you _were_ tempting fate, Wright)_

"Oh…uh… Detective! Yeah, I've got…uh, let me get it for you." Phoenix half-stammered, quickly turning to retrieve the papers. He wasted no time in grabbing the small stack off of his desk and—head tilted downward, as if to hide the thick ribbon—handing it over.

"Uh, pal? You okay?"

"Fine… why…?"

Looking slightly puzzled, the detective could only think of one response to that, "Pal, you show up at half of my crime scenes—I _know_ you're acting funny. And…what's behind you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Pal…"

Phoenix sighed, realizing that this could go on for hours, if he kept the denial up, "It's, um… a ribbon."

The fact that he'd never witnessed anything quite like the look Gumshoe gave him, at this point, was rather impressive…if he didn't know any better, the lawyer would've guessed that the mixture of incredulity and amusement was aimed at the man responsible for this.

Phoenix appreciated the fact that the detective was trying to hide his smile, though he wasn't doing a very good job of it, and the laughter was plain in his voice, the next time Dick spoke, "Do ya- heh- need a hand there, pal?"

"If you don't mind." The defense attorney responded, sounding rather glum.

Gumshoe slapped his shoulder, before setting the paperwork down and circling around the other man, in order to get a better look at the former bow. He whistled lowly, upon seeing just how tangled the ribbon was. "Gimme a sec here, pal, this could be tough…"

Phoenix didn't protest—he'd just be happy to get the darn thing off. He didn't have anyone to meet with or much anything to do, so it wasn't like time was an issue. As the detective had warned him, several minutes seemed to pass without much progress… and, eventually, Gumshoe stopped fiddling with the fabric entirely; though it seemed a bit looser, it was quite obvious that it hadn't been unfastened yet.

The defense attorney only _just_ refrained from turning his head as Dick sighed, "No luck. Sorry, pal, I can't get this—I know someone who can, though. You stay here, and I'll send him over."

Something seemed off about this statement, but Phoenix didn't press the matter, and merely bid the detective a weary farewell and a 'Thanks for trying'. Flopping down in an undignified heap on the sofa, he sighed, wondering how exactly he'd enact his revenge on Larry… and how to defend himself in court, once the deed was done.

_(Sabotaging his next date is pointless, since he does that without any help… but murder is overkill, and it would be a waste of a perfectly good clock. What's a happy medium?)_

His thoughts had wandered into immature territory when a knock sounded at the door, but, as wrapped up in plotting as he was, Phoenix didn't notice the noise. He didn't notice the door opening, or the footsteps inside the quiet office, either… what he _did_ notice was—

"Wright!"

The defense attorney immediately snapped to attention, automatically jumping to his feet at the same time. Despite this, his verbal reaction to the call was less than awe-inspiring: "Huh?"

Edgeworth rolled his eyes at the other man's actions, but kindly refrained from insulting the defense attorney, "I asked if you know why Gumshoe was so insistent that I come by your office."

Knowing that it was probably already too late, Phoenix clapped a hand to his throat in an effort to conceal the red ribbon, "Not really… he just said that he was going to find someone to help with… something."

"'Something'?" Miles echoed, smirking slightly, "That 'something' wouldn't have to do with the fact that you look like elves just tried to hang you, does it?"

There was a muttered reply that the prosecutor just barely caught, but it definitely included the phrase "I need a hit list"

"I wouldn't repeat that if I were you, Wright."

"Yeah, yeah, I know—you'll be the one prosecuting when I'm accused of murder." Phoenix sighed, using an odd—almost, but not quite mocking—tone for the last part of the comment.

It could've been the defense attorney's imagination, but, for a moment, it looked like Edgeworth's smile lost its sarcastic edge. "Well, yes, but I've heard that the Kitakis are rising in power again. It would be wise of you to refrain from mentioning 'hits lists' around just anyone."

"Duly noted."

There was a brief silence—not necessarily awkward, but a bit odd—during which Miles shook his head, before steering the conversation back on topic. "Dare I ask _why_ you've been attacked by the seasonal aisle?"

"Attacked, yes." Phoenix admitted, finally removing his hand from his neck, "By a store, no. Larry."

The only response this garnered—or needed, for that matter—was an understanding (and somewhat sympathetic), "Ah."

Neither of the lawyers bothered reciting the old motto; there were only so many times a person could say 'When something smells, it's probably the Butz' and look mildly intelligent, and both felt that they were dangerously close to that limit.

"And you couldn't untie it by yourself?"

Phoenix winced at the reminder, looking mildly ashamed, but also rather indignant. "Hey, whoever tied this thing was drunk when they did—I don't know how many times I came close to strangling myself with it!"

Edgeworth nodded slowly, his expression rather harsh, "Again, would you care to explain?"

Baffled by the other's sudden hostility, the dark haired man shrugged, "Explain what? Why Larry was drunk? That's because he's an idiot… and I mean that in the best possible way."

"Wright, why were you with a _drunk_ Larry on Christmas Eve?"

"Because _I'm_ an idiot." Was the first response Phoenix could come up with, and, therefore, the first thing he said. If nothing else, it made Miles nod in agreement… and then the _real_ question occurred to him. "Oh, you meant—of _course_ I wasn't drunk! You know how Larry is when he wants something—I just didn't want to deal with that… and then I, uh… kinda fell asleep."

Though he didn't verbalize the sentiment, the prosecutor's disapproving stare quite plainly said 'You deserved what you got.', and the defense attorney winced, trying not to look sheepish, or to fidget under the other's gaze. After another brief pause, Edgeworth sighed, looking like he regretted what he was about to do.

"Turn around."

Again, the sudden command was met with a baffled "Huh?"

"Turn around, Wright. You look ridiculous like that."

Phoenix couldn't help but agree to that statement—compared to the business-appropriate button-up shirt he was wearing, the ribbon just looked silly. So, wordlessly, he complied—and was very surprised when, literally two seconds later, the fabric slid away from his neck. Confused, he glanced at Miles, who looked like something obvious had just occurred to him.

"_This_ is what you couldn't untie?"

"Yeah… I tried all morning. Even Detective Gumshoe couldn't get it untangled." The dark haired man added for good measure.

Edgeworth shook his head, "I sincerely doubt that, since it was tied in a perfect bow."

"Wait, you mean he…"

"Did that on purpose? In all likelihood. If you didn't know this already, Wright, the detective is very skillful. Not that I would blame you for not knowing, looking at his artwork…"

At the same time, they both winced at the reminder of the blue badger… which had the bonus effect of killing the conversation.

"So, uh, you were at the prosecutors' office today, then…" The dark haired man ventured, after awhile, taking a stab at rekindling the awkward exchange.

"Yes—I'd rather have several witnesses to confirm my alibi, this year."

Phoenix must have been gaping at this statement, because he earned a rather exasperated—if not a touch amused—look from Miles. "Wright, if you _really_ believed that that was why I was in the office, I'm afraid you're in the wrong line of work."

Sheepishly, the defense attorney brought a hand to the back of his neck— he was pleased and surprised to remember that the ribbon wasn't in the way, anymore—and grinned, somewhat embarrassed. "Nah, that's not what I thought. I just, uh…"

"Wouldn't put it past me?" Edgeworth suggested, not looking as irked as the words suggested. It was worth noting that that his expression softened a bit at the vehement 'No!' that this prompted, "If you _must_ know, I don't usually bother celebrating; I don't have much in the way of family, anymore, and heaven forbid I get suckered into attending any of those parties…"

Hoping to hide the blush that had doubtlessly settled over his features, Phoenix half turned and stared out the window, pretending to find the Gatewater hotel fascinating.

"May I ask why _you're_ working today?"

The question earned a shrug, as the defense attorney turned back around—more for politeness' sake than actually wanting to—and leaned up against the wall next to Charley, making a mental note that the palm leaved… _(Uh…the plant)_ probably needed to be watered. "Pretty much the same reason," he said casually, "My mom doesn't want me to visit her until tomorrow, and with Maya gone, I don't really have anything to drive me insane for a few days."

Miles nodded, distracted by the time the mystic had been mentioned. He vaguely remembered Ms. Wright— and, distantly, he recalled his father explaining that things in the Wright household weren't… normal, per se… but it had been quite awhile since he'd focused on that portion of his past. Despite himself, the prosecutor found himself asking how she was doing, nowadays.

"She's in the hospital." Was the blunt answer he received. It wasn't bitter, making it quite obvious that Phoenix'd had some time to get used to the fact, "She has been for awhile and probably will be until she passes away."

And, after an answer that honest, Edgeworth didn't feel he had the privilege to ask any further… quite suddenly, he wondered how all of the people—and places—from his memories had changed over the years. Looking back over at Phoenix, he smiled slightly, plainly recognizing the earnest—and rather teary-eyed—boy he'd once defended in the dark haired man…who, fortunately, was frowning at the plant in the corner, not paying a bit of attention. Before he really knew what he was doing, Miles found himself saying, "Let's take a walk around the city."

The look Phoenix gave him was comical—he was clearly wondering where in the world that had come from…but he didn't outright reject the idea, which was encouraging. After a moment's contemplation, a grin spread over his features, and he nodded. "If you're willing to leave your potential witnesses."

Miles rolled his eyes at the other's logic—he'd known that it went beyond the courtroom, but it really was bizarre at times, "And what do you call yourself, then?"

The grin turned cheeky, "The victim."

Why had he set himself up for this, again?

As he waited for the defense attorney to settle matters in the office, he idly folded up the ribbon that he still held and stowed it away in his pocket… He was, of course, completely unaware that, this time next year, that same ribbon would be carefully tied around Phoenix's neck, again—and that neither of them would have any complaints about it.


End file.
